March 1, 2008
Naming Day
I am Mama
she said so today
a title I’ve waited, prompted, listened for
thought I heard whispered through sleepy lips
before her midnight meal, but this evening
we both heard her say
mama, that’s me at last
she said so.
February 14, 2008
Valentine
Would I be silly to cry because someday you will be grown
up in my arms I lift until your smile breaks, stealing hearts.
February 1, 2008
My Sunshine
Nearly an hour of putting the baby to sleep gave me ample time to reflect on the happenings of today. My day consisted of round the clock baby care, three trips out of the house and an hour at a skin care party. Every time I left that house, I changed out of my sweat pants and into my blue jeans. When I returned home, I changed out of my blue jeans and into my sweat pants. This alone should reveal something about my day.
I first felt like a bad Mommy when I met Richard at the beauty shop where he was getting a haircut. Our stylist trims my bangs for free in between my cuts. While I was in the chair, Richard held Hannah and pulled off her socks (which are always about to fall off) and stuffed them in his pocket. On my way home, I decided to stop by the library Scholastic book fair. Translation: I took my baby out in 40 degree weather barefoot because Daddy had her socks. I swallowed the urgent desire to explain the situation to every stranger I met. Somehow I felt compelled to defend my mothering skills, but nobody seemed to notice.
At the party I discovered I could have either cellulite free thighs or crack free heels for about $90. Not both mind you, but one or the other. I needed the lotions , but needed marital harmony even more which meant spending no money.
On my way home, I stopped by my parent’s house to pick up Hannah, who was with Richard, who was watching a basketball game. Hannah was asleep in her car seat. Granted, it was almost bedtime but she was not bathed nor wearing her pajamas. I made a mental decision not to bathe her or even put on her pajamas if she stayed asleep. Of course she woke up during the transfer to the car.
She sat screaming on the floor while I ran downstairs to see if she had a clean sleeper in the dryer. No clean outfit, but piles and piles of dirty laundry sat on the floor. When I came back up, her face was red and wet with tears. Tally followed behind me, her tail wagging with enthusiasm. The dog’s tail hits the baby’s face. More tears. While running the bath water, I accidentally bumped Hannah with her baby tub. More tears.
The crying continued while I dryed and dressed in a too tight yellow duck sleeper. Of course she did not fall asleep while nursing, so I ran (literally) for the CD player and lullaby music. Usually we use her crib “aquarium” with music and lights as a soothing device, but yesterday Mommy bought the wrong size batteries.
We find ourselves tucked in the rocking chair while the glow from the night light illuminates shadows of toys and clothing strewn across the nursery floor. Let’s fast forward to the present where Daddy arrives home and we realize the sheets for our bed are still wet in the washer. I find myself making up the bed with the dirty set of sheets. Brilliant.
Back to the rocking chair with lullaby music washing over us. First “Rock-a-Bye Baby,” then “Winkum,” “Twinkle, Twinkle,” and “Hush Little Baby.”
That’s when I hear them: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.” I look down at the sleeping baby in my arms. Her feet push the fabric of the ducky sleeper tight.
“You make me happy when skies are gray.” Hannah’s arm is flung back on my chest, her right hand resting above my heart. I listen to her soft, steady breaths. She’s asleep. “You’ll never know dear, how much I love you…”
January 17, 2008
One of Them
After reading Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim I wrote a paper titled, “If Jim is One of Us, Then Who Are We?” I only vaguely remember the theme of my paper, much less the main plot of the novel. My college roommate can vouch for me, she’s not convinced I read the entire book. And she’s probably right. But the infamous line, “one of us” remains clear in my memory.
I have been one of us, one of a distinguishable group, my entire life. One of the kids, one of the students, one of the teachers and now… one of the mothers. Or Mommy as I prefer to be called. The funny thing is that I have yet to hear myself addressed as Mommy by the only one to whom it applies: my seven month old daughter. And so I remain blissfully detached, hesitant to take full ownership of this sacred title.
The roles of motherhood are numerous. You are not just a Mommy. You are a chef, a nurse, a problem solver, a cheerleader, a comforter, a singer, a boredom buster, a lost item locator, a laundromat, an entertainer, a chaffeur, a blanket tucking, hair washing, teeth brushing, game inventing genius. You are in demand. You are on call 24 long hours a day.
I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Not sure I’m even capable. To begin with, I don’t do vomit. When a second grade sweetie threw up in my classroom, I was relieved that her mother was standing right there. She completely took over. No words could express my gratefulness as I hid my gag reflex. Also, I’m no good at basic medicine. I was a Band Aid scrooge, only handing them out to students who were profusely bleeding. No comfort Band Aids on my watch. I did try to show comfort, but how many times can a person sympathize with the 9th student who lost a bouncy ball? I warned them to leave the balls inside. Balls are bouncy objects and when they bounce their way outdoors (see above warning) they tend to bounce away for good. No, I have not seen your ball. Um, check the big grass field.
See, I don’t have the qualifications to be a mother. I cannot sew a princess costume or make a pie crust. I don’t know how to French braid. I don’t even think I could teach someone to tie their shoes. And I’m pretty sure I cannot remove food or grass stains from clothing (just ask my husband).
And yet, with no prior experience, little preparation and zero certification, I am a Mommy. That’s me pushing the stroller, wrestling with the car seat, popping my head out of the shower to sing another line to “Old McDonald.” That’s me nursing in the middle of the night, cleaning up blow out diapers, playing peek-a-boo. That’s me, wild over my little girl. My new self, my best self.
She can’t say my name yet, but she will. In the meantime my baby knows who I am. And if this is what a Mommy does, who a Mommy is, I am without a doubt, one of them.
January 8, 2008
Aftermath
For the first time in years, I am back from vacation and not returning to anything. I don’t go back to school, I don’t go back to work. You can’t go back to something that you never left: motherhood.
Granted, my days will be different. We’re back to nursing in the house rather than on the beach or in the car. We’re back to changing diapers on the changing table instead of on my lap or on the floor. We’re back to naps in a swing (I’m cheering) rather than napping in the stroller or in the carseat. And we have an abundance of toys instead of a few packed around in the diaper bag.
Hannah goes back to me as her main source of entertainment and enrichment, poor girl. She’s suffering withdrawal after being the center of attention for 14 doting family members over the last two weeks. Whenever I set her down she lets out a pitiful squawk of protest. Suddenly her favorite toys no longer amuse, her ability to play solo no longer exists. Maybe it’s Mommy who is going through withdrawal.
Take the last five minutes for example. We went from fussing in the booster seat (which was positioned inches from me) to crying on the floor (surrounded by toys) to on my lap (not sutiable for typing) to in the jumperoo (tears). Now the screaming has dwindled to a string of unhappy whines.
Back to my point: I find myself traveling on unfamiliar territory. No rush to make lesson plans, no new classes to orient myself for. It’s just me and the baby, the baby and I and piles of dirty laundry. But the laundry will have to wait, Hannah’s crying has revved up again. I will take her in my arms and we will play. That’s what a Mommy does, right?
Listen, is that Daddy’s car I hear? Yes sweetie, we have been waiting at the door for the last fifteen minutes. Welcome home.
